


what do i look like to you, a clearance rack?

by peterstank



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Tony Stark Has A Heart, cute fluff lmao, irondad and spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 02:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20520470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterstank/pseuds/peterstank
Summary: It happens once and then itkeepshappening. It starts with a hoodie, and then slowly Tony is sacrificing more and more items of clothing in the name of a clumsy, irresponsible Spider-Baby with no sense of self preservation.But honestly, he can’t bring himself to mind.or: 5 times Peter steals Tony’s clothes + the 1 time they share.





	what do i look like to you, a clearance rack?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArdenSkyeHolmes221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/gifts).

> So, this was originally supposed to be a lil drabble on tumblr based off of a prompt list; like a FOOL I asked for a specific number and ended up flooded with a bunch of asks for it, so I was like “what the hell I’ll just go ham and write a whole ass fic” — so this is dedicated to ArdenSkyeHolmes221, who was the first person to ask for #14! Thank you girlie!! u r always so supportive and sweet!! Ily!! <3

_ 1\. _

It starts on a muggy Saturday afternoon in the Tower, during a routine (if inconvenient) shut down of FRIDAY’s systems for manually uploaded updates. It’s been three hours of him hunched over a computer combing through code trying to work out kinks, and during that time, the temperature in the lab has dropped drastically.

“It’s cold in here,” Tony notes. “Are you cold?”

“Mmm,” is Peter’s incredibly informative response.

Tony frowns. He raises his eyes from the screen and blinks a few times, trying to clear away the lines burned into his retinas. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere.”

He sounds half asleep. Instinctively, Tony checks the ceiling. No Spider-Baby. 

“Do we have to play Marco Polo?”

“Marco.”

Last time, it had sounded like he was on the right side of the room. Now it seems like the left. “Are you—are you _ moving?”_

“What?” comes from behind him. “No way. My legs are broken.”

“Your legs are _ not _broken and I demand that you cease this tomfoolery at once.” 

Tony is met with a snort of laughter. “You’re such an old man.”

“I’m not old. I’m _ freezing _and I can’t see you.”

“Must be the cataracts.”

Tony chokes on indignance and pushes out of his chair, leaning around his counter to glimpse the floor. Nothing there, or behind the workstation, or the emergency eye wash station, or any of the other numerous counter spaces in the lab. 

“Okay, I give up. You’re watching me from a security camera, aren’t you. You’re laughing at me while I look for you and talking to me through the speakers. There, mystery solved.”

“Uh, first of all, I didn’t even _ know _ there were cameras in here, and now that I do I’m slightly disturbed because like, _ why?”_

“FRIDAY needs eyes.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“Kid, if you don’t come out from wherever you’re hiding in five seconds I’m going to call the police and tell them I’m being haunted. I’ll get the ghost busters in here, I’ll get Father Malachi Martin on your ass—”

“I’m not _ hiding.”_

“Well then _ what _are you doing?”

“Looking.”

“For?”

“Something.”

Tony stops. Pushes down the rising sense of incredulity that _ this _is his life. Pinches his brow. “You’re being purposefully vague, aren’t you? Just say.”

“I don’t want to say. It’s embarrassing.”

Tony doesn’t even know what to do with _ that. _His hands drift up to massage his temples and he continues to circle the lab. It does little for his gradually numbing hands. He can’t have that, can’t get any work done with frozen limbs. 

“Have you seen my hoodie?” 

“_Nooo.”_

Tony’s eyes narrow. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

“_Aha! _ Found it!”

“My hoodie?”

“My spider!” Peter shoots to his feet, all the way on the other side of the room. He’s grinning and holding up the small detachable drone that normally finds home on the heart of his suit. “She ran away.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Well thank god you found her. We might’ve had to call the authorities, get a search party going.”

“I _ know.”_

He suppresses a smile, watching Peter hug the little spider close to his chest. The drone’s legs click and latch onto the fabric of the hoodie that absolutely, definitely does _ not _belong to Peter. “Thief,” he accuses. 

“I was _ cold,” _pouts Peter. Then he grins. “Did you know that Pepper writes your initials on your tags like you’re five?”

“Okay, that’s it, take it off.”

“No, wait, I’m _ sorry—_”

“Not accepted.”

“Mr _ Stark!”_

* * *

_2\. _

Tony throws the tip down on the table and rises out of the booth. “Are you done?” he asks Peter, who holds up a finger and proceeds to scarf down the last of his cheeseburger like he hadn’t eaten two more before it, plus fries, plus half of Tony’s onion rings and a chocolate shake. 

The kid can pack away a meal, that’s for certain. 

“Okay,” Peter says, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, because there _ absolutely _aren’t napkins readily available. “Let’s—wait a minute, Mr Stark, you accidentally put down a hundred for the tip.”

“Oh, that wasn’t an accident.”

Peter blinks owlishly. He looks from the money to Tony and back again. “I’ll never be able to comprehend the ability to do that without even thinking twice.”

“What, calculate tips? Listen, it’s pretty simple—”

“_No, _not—” Peter shakes his head. “I meant having that much money on hand.”

“Well, you’ll have to learn. One day you’ll be flushed with cash.”

“Uh, not likely.”

Tony decides he’ll save the little detail that he’s already lined up Peter’s future at SI for the next fifteen years at least; there’s an entire department waiting for him to head as soon as he’s ready to take up the mantle. Despite it being undeniably awesome and ridiculously generous of him, he knows the kid gets skittish about things like that, so he pushes it to the back burner and instead guides Peter by the shoulder out of the little burger joint in Brooklyn.

“God, I hate this place.”

Peter frowns. “Really? I always thought it was one of the nicer boroughs.”

Tony huffs. Explaining Brooklyn and the hairstring mental attachments with Steve would be too much. The bell on the door jingles as they step onto the sidewalk and, like a harbinger, thunder booms and rolls across the sky in the same beat.

Figures they spend two hours holed up inside waiting for the rain and the minute they leave, the showers start up.

“Well that’s just rude,” Tony says. 

Peter shrugs and tilts his face up, nose scrunching when he’s hit with the first drop. He smiles. “I don’t mind.”

“Well you will, because I have no driver and no car and thanks to your little friend with the fisting fetish, my repulsors are out of whack. That means we’ll be forced to walk until we can find the first cab.”

“Or we could take the subway.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s fun sometimes! There’s this troubadour that rides around this time. He only knows how to play Wonderwall on acoustic, but he has a pretty good voice.”

Tony shakes his head in wonderment. “That’s it. I’m hiring you your own driver.”

“What?! No! You can’t do that, it’ll make me look stuck up and stuff at school. Like, not even _ Flash _gets driven around, and his dad is like a senator or something.”

“Seriously? A senator with a son named Flash?”

“Well, his _ real _ name is Eugene.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Yeah, figures. If I had the god-given name Eugene I might go by something only marginally worse, too.”

The rain has started to pick up and they hurry down the street. “God, I’m getting soaked. I’m putting on the suit.” 

“Oh my god Mr Stark, you can’t just walk around in your suit, that’s so _ extra._”

Tony blinks. “I don’t know what that means and I won’t respond to it.”

He turns on his heel and walks away. Peter laughs, catching up quickly. Tony’s clothes feel heavy. His jeans are doing that god awful starchy thing. They cost him a grand, they’re supposed to be _ better than this. _

But Peter looks even worse. His sweatshirt is dipping wet and his hair is plastered to his forehead. He’s also shivering, which has Tony stopping right in his tracks to strip off his jacket without a second thought.

“What are you doing?”

“Hush, put it on.”

Peter frowns. “But you’ll be cold?”

“I’m already cold, but baby spiders can’t thermoregulate, so you’re in more danger than I am.”

“But—”

“Worse case scenario for me, I get a cold. For you, it’s hypothermia and triggered hibernation, so: jacket. Arms up.”

“I can put it on myself.”

“Oh really? Cuz I don’t see it happening. Come on, work with me.”

Peter looks absolutely miserable as Tony helps him don the jacket, even though they both know he doesn’t need the assistance and he _ especially _doesn’t need Tony going the extra mile by zipping it up for him.

But whatever. He’s cold, his hands are probably trembling. It’s only general consideration, nothing more.

Peter wriggles. “I feel thick.”

“Yeah,” Tony snorts. “Come on, let’s find a cab. 

* * *

_3\. _

“It’s choking me.”

“Relax, would you? This is Armani. It’s delicate.”

“Is it spider silk?”

Tony gives him a look, pausing his work on the tie. “Moth silk.”

Peter’s face scrunches up. “Don’t you think it’s weird that moths are responsible for making some of our clothes and then they like, eat them too? Like, who decided that was a good idea?”

Tony’s lip quirks up, but he won’t give the kid the satisfaction of making him laugh. “I don’t know. Why do people eat their homework, or their novels when they think they’re terrible?”

“Their novels?”

Tony waves this off. “Yeah, it was on an episode of… something.”

“Grey’s Anatomy,” Peter supplies with a rueful grin. “It was on an episode of _ Grey’s Anatomy. _Mr Stark, do you watch modern soaps?”

“Okay first of all, that show is so much more than a soap—”

“Oh my god, I knew it.”

Tony glares at him. “You’re all set,” he says, stepping away to admire his hard work. Peter’s suit is perfectly tailored to fit his form, but the tie just hadn’t been right. At the last second, Tony had snagged one of his own for Peter to wear. It’s an important night, after all; you only turn sixteen once.

Peter turns to examine his reflection in the mirror. Behind him, Tony hovers, brushing imaginary lint off of his kid’s shoulder. 

He lets his hand stay. 

“What do you think?”

“I think,” Peter turns a little, “I look dorky.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “You look dorky no matter what, kiddie, nothing I can do about that. But I think this takes the dweeby edges off, don’t you?”

Peter hums and tilts his head. “Yeah, I guess.”

Tony frowns. “You look anxious. Why do you look anxious?”

“It’s just…” Peter flails uselessly, brows beetled, struggling to articulate whatever it is he wants to say. “You didn’t have to do this. I mean, dinner reservations at the most expensive Italian restaurant in New York? A whole suit just for me? I don’t even… I’ve never gotten gifts like these before. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Thank you?” Tony shakes his head. “Kid, these are just the _ necessities._ I haven’t even given you your present, yet.”

His eyes widen. “_What?”_

“What I just said. These are like the, uh, party favours.” 

“But what’s the gift? Oh my god, don’t tell me. Wait, I’m sixteen. Is it a car? Please don’t tell me you got me a car.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

“_Mr_ _Stark._”

Tony gives him a nudge toward the door. “Come on, squirt, May and Pep are waiting—”

“But I can’t accept—”

“No returns, I didn’t keep the receipt.”

“Oh my god.”

* * *

_4\. _

“Ow!”

Tony gives Peter a look, even though his back is to him and the little spider gremlin can’t even see him. Still, he hopes the effect is there, that his laser-beam eyes burn a hole into the back of Peter’s head because _ really, come on. _

“Just a few more stitches.”

Peter slumps a little, sighing as his shoulders fall. Tony digs the needle in again and continues his nice, even sutures. “_Ow,”_ Peter says again.

“Oh, woe is you,” Tony grumbles. “_You’re _ not the one who had to find your kid bleeding out in a back alley with the dinosaur sized sewer rats trying to gnaw his face off, are you? _ No. _All you had to do was sit there and look dead.”

Peter is silent, and for a minute Tony thinks maybe he said the wrong thing, so he combs over his words and—oh. _ Your kid. _

As in: _his_ kid. 

“I wasn’t gonna die,” Peter says at last, stubborn as ever. 

“Uh-huh. Your vital signs beg to differ.”

“It was just _ one _bullet. I’ve had worse.”

“Ex-excuse you? Worse? _ Worse _ than a bullet tearing through your thigh, _ two inches _ from your femoral artery? Okay! Alright! Please enlighten me, Pete, what’s _ worse?”_

Peter hesitates. 

“...Two bullets in your thigh only one inch from your femoral artery?”

“That better be a technically accurate response and not an actual thing that’s happened.”

Peter nods, all too quickly. “Yup. Definitely just… technical.”

Tony sighs and cuts off the threat. Honestly, a huge part of him doesn’t even want to touch what Peter is implying. But the other part just can’t let things like this go.

He makes Peter turn around. “Kid, look: I know you’re trying your best out there. I know neither of us want you to get hurt. But Pete, I’m begging you, if this happens again you _ call _ me. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning on a Sunday and I have to fly to Beijing the next day, alright? No more of this ‘Tony Stark is my last resort’ bullshit. I am your first resort, your _ only _resort. If Karen tells you to call me, you call me, okay?”

Peter absorbs all of that with a silent nod. For a half a second, they stay like that, with Tony’s hand twitching as he wonders whether or not this is the sort of thing you’re supposed to hug out or make a pinky promise pact on. 

Then his phone rings. It’s a number he recognises all too well: the one Nat keeps trying to call him with. Tony doesn’t even think before sending her to voicemail. 

He puts his phone away. 

Peter is staring at him, lips slowly curling up.

“What?”

“Am I your lock screen?”

_ Oh, shit. _“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Okay, but like, I did. I’m—your background is a picture of me. _ Why _is your background a picture of me?” 

“We don’t have to-uh,” Tony clears his throat and busies himself by cleaning up the bloody mess on the counter. “There’s no need to open that can of worms right now, I don’t think. You should agree. Agree with me. We’ll save it for the joint therapy session, say, June 50th?”

“Uh-uh, I’m not letting this go. I wanna see it again.”

“What, like it’ll be different this time?”

_ God, I wish. _

“God, I hope not.”

Despite himself, Tony grins. Then he feels a hand grab his phone right out of his pocket. “I—hey!”

Peter grins down at the screen. “_When _did you even take this?”

The picture, such as it is, is of Peter curled up and fast asleep on the couch in the workshop wearing a stolen hoodie. It was taken maybe three months ago and embarrassingly enough, Tony hasn’t changed his background since. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he snatches his phone back. “Down, off. Come.”

Peter laughs. “I’m not a dog.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He even trails after Tony as they walk through the halls of the Tower. Finally they reach Tony’s room. He rifles through his drawers while Peter hovers in the doorway, still wearing his bloody, messed up suit. 

Tony hands him a pair of pajama pants and a well-worn band shirt. He doesn’t bother looking to see which one it is, and so Peter’s nose wrinkles when he unfolds it. “Black Sabbath?”

“What could possibly be wrong with that?”

“You don’t have any, like, Ramones merch or—”

Tony points to the door. “Get out,” he says flatly.

Peter just laughs. He shoulders passed Tony into the en suite bathroom instead. “Thanks!”

Tony rolls his eyes as the door shuts. For a minute he stands there in the dark with his hands on his hips, still reeling a little from before, not to mention mortally embarrassed by his kid’s discovery.

Tony pulls out his phone, just to check the time of course. He snorts softly to himself. “Dork.”

* * *

_5._

“What in the name of all that is holy is _ that.”_

Tony stops in the middle of his coffee pour and looks up to see Peter, nursing a severe case of bed-head and rubbing his wide eyes. “What’s what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I think you forgot your stocking cap in your bedroom, Scrooge,” Peter says, starting to laugh.

Tony frowns. It takes him a second to gauge what Peter finds so amusing. He looks down at himself and—oh, it’s the robe. Despite the fact that he doesn’t find the same humour in it that Peter so clearly does, he finds himself smiling at his maniacal giggles.

“This is Gucci, you know. It costs… well, I don’t know how much it costs, I wasn’t paying attention, but it’s _ expensive.”_

Peter snorts. “Oh yeah, I would totally get one for myself. My bedroom could use a rug.”

Tony sends him a deadpan look. “It’s fashion. It’s in.”

“Right. Hey, the eighteenth century called, King George needs his night robe back.”

Tony sighs long and hard. “You know, I don’t make fun of _ your _lame clothes.”

“Yes you do,” Peter retorts around a mouthful of bread. “All the time. Just yesterday you—”

“Alright, alright, we don’t need to go into details!”

Peter snorts. He slips past Tony to grab at the coffee pot, which is probably the worst idea since pickles and ice cream (not that he ever tried that during a drunken college adventure with Rhodey). “Uh, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, see, this is what we in the modern day call a Keurig, you put the grounds in and it filters it through using this magical invention called electricity—” 

“Alright, alright, enough,” Tony snaps. “You’ve made your point and what did it cost? This.” He snatches the pot back. “Also, now I have to burn this robe because _ yes _I’m that insecure.”

Peter frowns. “Why do that when you could sell it for like a bajillion dollars?”

“No. I’ve decided. Fire.”

Peter shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that. Give me the robe.”

“Absolutely not.”

Peter tugs on the string. “I have to have it, please, it’s all the rage with the kids these days, we really love grandma patterns—”

“You’re not going to fool me—”

“Please, if you set it on fire I’ll have to jump into the flames myself, I’ll feel _ so bad. _”

Tony rolls his eyes. He puts his hand on Peter’s head to halt his movements. “Relax. I won’t actually burn it.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, “because I’m making you wear it the whole day. I don’t care if we get called out to patrol or whatever, you’re wearing it. The Robe of Shame.”

Peter’s widen. “You want me to wear this monstrosity _ over my suit?!”_

“Absolutely.” He shucks the robe and hands it over. “There, you’re marked. Now everyone knows how mean you are.”

Peter grimaces. He slips the robe on like he’s donning something lined with poison and shivers when the satin fabric falls over his shoulders. “God. I feel like a loveseat.”

Tony snorts with laughter and ruffles his hair. “Come on, kid, we’ve got mods to make.”

* * *

_ +1 _

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It depends, are you thinking that it’s a Snuggie?”

Peter’s grin widens, brightens. He reaches out and makes grabby hands. “Gimmie.”

“Uh, no can do. This is mine. If you wanted warmth, you should’ve—”

“What, stayed far away from your cold dead heart?”

Tony scoffs, his hand flying over his heart in mock offense. “That’s it. Just for the sass, I’m revoking your turn. I get to pick the movie _ and _the take out place, and you can suffer in silence.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “No, no, I was only kidding, I promise.”

“Too late.” Tony lowers himself onto the couch. The smell of popcorn permeates the air, buttery and warm. Beside him, Peter’s pout is just barely visible by the light of the big screen TV. “I can tell you’re still looking at me.”

“I am. I won’t stop until I have the Snuggie.”

Tony makes a show of burrowing deeper into the folds of the red velvet garment, complete with gold trim and a mock arc reactor in the centre of his chest. It had been a birthday gift from Rhodey about five years ago. 

“If you want you can wear the Robe of Shame.”

Peter harrumps. “You’re the worst. I bet you’re gonna order pizza from that flat crust place instead of deep dish, too, huh?”

“You betcha.”

“So I’m gonna be cold _ and _hungry,” Peter laments, head lolling against the back seat. “You might as well toss me onto the street to rot.”

Tony shrugs. “If that’s what you think.”

“It’s what I _ know._” 

He doesn’t think either of them are really paying attention to the endless selection of movies he’s been scrolling through. At random, he clicks one, and Peter perks up a little. 

“You like the Princess Bride?”

“Are you kidding? It’s only the second best movie of our time.” 

Then Peter wriggles, lying flat on the sofa and burrowing against Tony’s side. For a minute, Tony goes stiff. Then like breathing he just… relaxes. It’s not weird. It doesn’t feel strange. It feels like this is how things should be; easy, natural, quick and light and familiar.

“What are you doing?” he asks, opting for an innocent tone.

“Huddling for warmth. What else would I be doing? What, you thought this was a hug? Please. No. I just need your body heat. I’m dying.”

Tony snorts softly. 

“You mock my pain,” Peter complains. 

“Life is pain, Spider-Baby. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

Peter grunts and lets his chin fall against Tony’s sternum. For a little while, there’s nothing; just big brown eyes trained on the TV screen watching Fred Savagae complain to his grandpa. Then Peter starts to play with the hem of Tony’s Snuggie. At first it’s innocent, just subtle twitches of the fabric, but after a while he starts to full on whack Tony with it.

“God, _ fine,” _Tony relents, lifting it so that Peter can worm his way under it. The neck is wide enough so that they can both see out, still. Peter laughs with gleeful victory and pops out right by Tony’s head. His curls brush Tony’s cheek. 

They probably look completely stupid, but it doesn’t feel that way, with Peter’s arms wrapped around him and the warmth of the blanket draped over them both. His manipulative, deceitful child settles back with a happy sigh and watches the rest of the movie in peace. 

Two hours later and Tony is smothered by a fast asleep Spider-Baby, but he doesn’t mind. And when Pepper returns from her conference in Austin and finds them there, he pretends to be asleep too. He pretends even harder when she snaps a picture with a quiet laugh. 

And the next day when it shows up in his inbox, he _ definitely _ doesn’t make it his new lock screen. 

Except, yeah, he totally does.


End file.
